Gun Show
by makesometime
Summary: Hidden in the base of the command building, behind the room containing The Eye, was the entrance to Taylor's secret hideout. Pre-series/S1 multi-chapter fic, completely ignoring the finale.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Inspired by two of my favourite things: Stephen Lang's guns and Stephen Lang WITH guns. I watched a behind the scenes video where the cast got their weapons training yesterday and this idea wouldn't leave me.

I initially had this planned quite some time back for another fandom but it works much better for these two. Completely ignoring the finale, this is set both pre-series and during season 1. It also involved a lot of fun research, which is why it's a heck of a lot longer than I planned - and why I'm posting it multi-chapter.

I didn't intend to post this tonight, but I think all of you lovely people need some cheering up. I'm not sure what kind of schedule I'm working to on this, but I'll do my best to get it updated asap. Until then, enjoy!

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><p>"You ready?"<p>

Alicia looked up from her desk to see Nathaniel Taylor staring down at her with a wide smile on his face. She matched it, standing. "Yes sir."

They walked in silence out of the command building, close but not too close, stopping when they met Jim at the bottom of the stairs. "Shannon, you're in charge for the rest of the day."

Jim looked a little surprised, but was well used to things like this being sprung on him by now. "Uh, yes sir. Of course. Can I ask why?"

Taylor inclined his head, one corner of his mouth quirking up. "You can _ask_."

"Okay... Why?"

"None of your damn business." Taylor said and Alicia laughed, following him as he walked around to the back of the command building.

Jim watched them go for a moment, thoroughly confused by their good mood and general... _togetherness_, before taking the steps up to Taylor's office two at a time. He stopped just before entering, noticing Reynolds was on guard duty. Taking a quick shift look around him, Jim sidled up to the younger man with a bright smile.

"Say, Reynolds. Don't suppose you know where they're going?"

Reynolds shifted uncomfortably, not making eye contact. "Not sure I should say, sir."

Jim nodded, looking out over the main square. "You know, I'm in command now, I could order you to do it. I'd rather not, but I could..."

Reynolds sighed, shoulders dropping a little. "We don't really know, sir. There are theories... They disappear to The Eye once every two weeks or so for an afternoon. Come back unharmed... for the most part."

"For the most part?" Jim echoed, curiosity piqued.

"Well, once the Commander came back on duty with a bruise on the base of his neck." Reynolds smirked. "But you didn't hear that from me, sir."

Jim grinned, patting him on the shoulder. "No, that'll be our secret. Thank you Reynolds, as you were."

#

Hidden in the base of the command building, behind the room containing The Eye, was the entrance to Taylor's secret hideout. He'd designed it for his own, lone, personal use. And had managed to keep it that way, right up until Wash became too damn curious about where he kept disappearing to and snuck in there after him one day.

Hell, had she told him off for keeping it from her.

The colony had an outdoor shooting range, used by soldiers and recruits on a daily basis. But sometimes one needed a little privacy with their recreational shooting practice. So, Taylor built himself an underground room with - according to the plans - an unspecified purpose, just beyond the Eye. It could be opened only with a hidden security pad, the location and code of which were only known to him.

If - _if_ - you got through that first door, a narrow staircase led you underground and into a dark corridor. Then there was another, much heavier, door before you entered the ventilated room beyond. The shooting range he had designed was kitted out exactly how he wanted it to be, and could handle pretty much anything he wanted it to. It contained everything an old style range back in the early 21st Century would have, including paper targets, ear protectors and a wide range of guns that only fired projectiles.

There was something quite different about holding a weapon with solely live ammo inside, the heft and balance of the entire body was different when it didn't contain the circuitry necessary for sonic power. He was a traditionalist, enjoyed the effort involved with the upkeep of such a tool. So was Wash, he knew, which was why he really should have shared his secret with her much sooner than he did.

The first few times they'd jointly used the room (which had two lanes anyway, so it was quite possible he was always unconsciously preparing to share it) it had just been about getting her used to the weapons again. The recoil was greater on the old mechanical guns, especially on the rifles, and she ended up with a few jolts and bruises as a result.

He remembered the first time she'd prepared to fire one of his favourite assault rifles, holding it efficiently but completely unnaturally, in his eyes. Without thinking he'd moved behind her and aligned it properly, chest pressed against her back as his arms came around to assist. She'd fired beautifully, getting the target dead centre first time, but the way her breathing sped up and her cheeks flushed was not lost on him as he stepped back to his own lane.

Thinking back, it was probably that day that changed everything.

It started becoming a _competition_.

#

Their first few battles he won. With ease, almost, but he would never say so. He had more practice than her with the older weapons, had started serving during a time when knowledge of them was a necessity rather than a hobby.

She was better with handguns and the perfection of a sniper rifle, he with semi-automatics (all power, no precision, she had teased). She overtook him with the former first, landing a near perfect headshot to his slightly off centre one. Her resulting joy at besting him instantly erased all his feelings of damaged pride.

Once they started being more evenly matched, they turned instinctively to dirty tactics. He would set her target a metre back from his (she'd still hit it). She would replace his bullets with blanks.

And they would challenge each other to near impossible feats of gunmanship.

_"Come on sir. I know I'm the sniper, but even you should be able to hit that."_

_"Even me, huh?" He asked, lining up the shot and making it. He stood and grinned. "You were saying?"_

_"Again." She commanded and he raised an eyebrow at her tone but complied._

_Just when his finger was about to pull on the trigger she leaned over him and gently blew over the back of his neck. His finger slipped and so did the shot, hitting the chest of the target._

_"Cheat!" He declared, standing up quickly enough that she had to take a few steps back to avoid getting hit in the face._

_She simply smiled, heading back to her own gun to shoot three quick shots to her target's head and, for good measure, one to his. "Maybe you're just not good enough?"_

He'd let her have her win that day. Made her run extra laps for the honour, but still. It was a start.

Besides. He soon got his own back.

_Remembering back to how she reacted the first time he'd helped her alignment, he purposely chose the assault rifle for their next session. She looked a little disappointed when she saw it, but soon recovered, applying her ear protection before picking the gun up and falling into the correct posture._

_She let off a few rounds, nothing spectacular, but always within the inner rings on the target. She missed the centre of it though and huffed, putting the weapon down and looking like she'd rather throw it at the target instead._

_Taylor sidled up behind her, reaching for her hips but allowing no further bodily contact. He twisted his hands until she was planted firmly on both feet, shoulder width apart._

_"Breathe, Wash." He whispered. "Nice and even."_

_"Easy for you to say, sir." She said, her voice barely audible._

_"What was that, lieutenant?"_

_Wash sighed, picking up the weapon again. "Nothing sir."_

_His hands squeezed her hips and she positioned the weapon carefully, taking her aim. "Now, take your time. We're not in any hurry." He couldn't see her face but could feel the force of her scowl and chuckled softly. "You can't be perfect at everything, Wash."_

_"You can do it, sir. Can't be that hard." She retorted._

_He grinned broadly at her sharp words, knowing frustration at both herself and him was the root cause, rather than anything more sinister. He took a step forward as her breathing evened out, pressing himself firmly against her and enjoying the way her calm, casual inhales and exhales became forced and heavy._

_"Stop that." She hissed, adjusting her grip on the rifle._

_"I'm __afraid __I __don't __know__ what __you __mean." __He __replied, __fingers __splaying __to __rest __over __her __lower __stomach.__"But __if __I _did_, __I __believe __you __started __it."_

_"Oh, we're playing it that way are we?" Wash smiled, setting her shoulders firmly and sighting the target. She carefully pushed back against him, allowing him to take some of her weight and he knew he tensed at the additional contact – and dammit, she knew it too._

_She pulled the trigger, just the once, and the bullet hit the target dead centre. Wash exhaled heavily and put the rifle down, pulling off her ear protectors._

_"Guess you're my lucky charm, sir."_

It could only escalate from there.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: This chapter consists of two flashbacks and, just to confuse everyone, I decided to switch up the formatting so the majority of the text wouldn't be italic. Hope it makes sense...

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><p><em>(Equivalent Year: 2145)<em>

The next time they managed to find a spare afternoon to head down to the range, the fourth Terra Novan summer had broken. The underground room was still ventilated but it wasn't actively cooled, and stray heat got trapped very easily in the sealed environment.

Not that Alicia saw this as a particular issue when Taylor turned up at the range wearing one of his famous black t-shirts.

(Winter was a hardship for everyone; readjustment to life in cold weather after the heat and pollution of the 22nd Century was always a challenge in pilgrims' first years in the colony. But Alicia had long since learned to embrace the changing seasons and instead – privately – declared the first day of the year that he wore full sleeves a day of personal torture for her.)

She never let her personal feelings get in the way of her duties – not when she was younger, and definitely not now. It appeared, however, that while they were down in their private space and technically off-duty, his sartorial choices were rather detrimental to her concentration.

By the time she'd missed three shots in a row he'd stopped his own firing and was watching her carefully. This, naturally, only made things worse and she was up to ten misses when he held up a hand to indicate she should stop.

"Yes?" She said tersely, once she could hear again. "Sir." She added, as an afterthought – he didn't look particularly perturbed by her lack of formality but it helped ease her mind to remind herself of his rank.

"You're not concentrating." He said, leaning his hip against the partition between their lanes. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wr-wrong." She said, stumbling over her words when he crossed his arms to signal his disbelief of her instant disagreement.

"Bull, Wash. Something's bothering you and I'd like to know what it is."

She sighed, rolling her eyes and turning away from him. She turned back with a hand to her forehead, squinting at him. "You really don't know? After all these years?"

He frowned. "Know what?"

Alicia groaned. "Ayani always said you were oblivious."

She thought she might have pushed it too far with the reference to her old friend, the heat and slow-burning tension in her gut getting the better of her for a moment. But Taylor smiled, obviously caught in happy memories. "And she was always right. Are you going to tell me? Or do I have to work it out for myself?"

"_You're_ distracting me, sir." She said finally. "And I'd say it's fair to say you can work out why on your own." She added, gesturing at his general upper body area.

He looked down at himself in confusion and she watched a slow smile form on his face as he figured out what was causing her discomfort. He stood up straight, looping his thumbs through his belt and looking far too pleased with himself. "Want me to cover up, Wash?"

She shot daggers at him, pulling the protectors over her ears forcefully. Her voice sounded odd to her ears when she spoke again. "That won't be necessary, sir. Suddenly I find myself less distracted than I thought."

She could just about hear his laughter as he walked away to his own lane and she picked up her favourite pistol. Taking aim, she picture Taylor's smug expression on the face of the target; she grinned to herself as she emptied her clip at it.

Every bullet hit dead centre.

#

He exploited his newly gained knowledge gleefully for much of the next few weeks. Alicia realised the only way to snap him out of it was to not give him the satisfaction of being embarrassed about it. Several times she openly stared at him as he gave a briefing, a tiny smirk on her face.

One day – probably far too long since she started her little game, they'd walked a very fine line and got away with it longer than they should have – Guzman noticed, looking between the two of them a couple of times before realisation dawned clear on his face. Alicia relented then, making a concerted effort to keep herself in check while in public.

#

_(Equivalent Year: 2145)_

He led the way down to the range the next time they got a chance to indulge, stepping aside to allow her to start setting up. She removed her jacket to reveal a tank top beneath and he couldn't hold back a smile – this was her way of getting him back for the t-shirts. His eyes lingered on her exposed skin, not caring that she was obviously aware he was doing so if the lazy way she raised her arms above her head to stretch was any indication.

She turned to face him, hands resting on the top of her head as she smiled at him. "What's the plan sir?"

He approached slowly and leant over her to grab one of the new cleaning cloths, purposely entirely too close – especially since reaching _around _her would have been the easier option. He noticed her gaze redirect to his outstretched arm and would have commented if her eyes hadn't suddenly snapped back to his without a hint of guilt.

Holding it between them, Taylor folded the material into a strip and presented it to her horizontally with a raised eyebrow. "Trust me?"

She nodded instantly. "Of course, sir."

"Good. Grab a rifle." He said and she didn't even hesitate – an indication of her increased confidence in her own ability. He took it from her when she presented him with her favourite and placed the weapon and magazine next to each other on her bench. "Face the target."

She did as he asked without question, and he looped the material over her eyes. Her hands came up to hold it in place as he tied it tightly beneath her ponytail.

"Good?" He asked, stepping back.

"Yes, sir." She said. Shifting her weight to become centered, she reached for her ear protectors and placed them on.

With two of her senses dulled by his actions and a third practically useless in this situation, Taylor knew how heavily Wash would be relying on her remaining senses of smell and touch.

And just how much he could take advantage.

She took a few deep breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth; analysing the surrounding area, taking in the smell of harsh metal and warm skin. He could almost see the cogs turning in her head as she drew up a mental image of the room. He watched over her shoulder as her right hand stretched out for the rifle, curling around the grip immediately. Her left reached for the magazine and snapped it into the gun without a second thought.

He brought his hands to hover over her sides, scant inches above the material of her top. She held herself rigid within the confines of his quasi-hold, lifting the rifle to brace it against her shoulder.

And fired.

It wasn't awful. She grazed the side of the target, sending it fluttering. In response, Taylor moved his left hand to cup her side gently.

She understood, adjusting her stance and letting off another round, which hit close to the opposite edge of the target. In response he removed his left hand and placed his right up against her side instead, fingers aligning in the dips of her ribs.

Her next attempt was within one of the inner rings, still slightly to the right; he squeezed the hand still on her body. The next was nearly in the centre – Wash always was a quick learner – but a little to the left, so he replaced his right with his left.

The next shot was central, and he brought both hands into contact with her and just held them there, indicating her alignment was sound.

She emptied the rest of the magazine into the target under his guidance. When she put the rifle down and removed the ear protectors, her shoulder was slightly pink but the grin on her face told him all he needed to know.

Time to up the ante.

"Stay." He said, and though her mouth twisted in annoyance she did as he asked.

"I'm not a dog, sir."

"Sorry." He chuckled. "Would you please remain where you are, Lieutenant Washington?"

He watched her scowl melt away at his apology – they were rare, and not usually so freely given. "Yes sir." She said, waiting patiently for his next instruction.

He returned to her and placed another magazine in her hand. She turned and picked up the gun, instinctively remembering exactly the position she'd left it in. Loading the bullets and bracing the rifle once more, she aimed at the target and then paused.

He leaned over her shoulder and spoke directly into her ear. "As you were, Wash." He said, placing the protectors back over her ears.

She attempted a fresh shot, her posture almost exactly as it had been before despite the lack of his hands as a guide. It hit roughly an inch outside her previous best and he grinned at her talent so openly displayed.

There was a moment of silence before he realised she was waiting for his indication of what adjustment to make. Leaning forward he ghosted his lips over the left side of her neck, the rasp of his beard just skimming over her skin. He could feel her breath catch; could see the sly smile that formed on her face as he stepped back.

Her next shot was much too widely adjusted. It landed to the right this time, outside the two inner rings. If he was being entirely honest with himself he wasn't certain if that was just a consequence of him successfully throwing her off her stride (a little too easily, really) or – far more likely - if Wash had some ulterior motive.

Not particularly needing the excuse, he switched sides and pressed his lips to the right of her neck, fully this time, before once again stepping back behind her.

When her next shot barely made the left side of the target he had his answer: she was playing him, seeing how far he was willing to push her - and be pushed in return. He returned to the left side of her neck and pressed parted lips against the side of her throat, running his tongue along the line of exposed skin.

She gasped at the hot contact and her trigger finger twitched to fire instinctively, thoroughly distracted by his actions. He flicked his gaze to the target and saw a fresh bullet hole through the head of the target, an utter fluke of a shot that ended up perfectly placed.

He removed his lips from her and pulled off her ear protectors. "Nice shot, Wash."

"Sir, that wasn't... I didn't..." She said, putting the gun down and pulling the blindfold from her eyes to stare accusingly at the target. "I wasn't aiming for the head."

"Got it though." He grinned. "Think you win."

"Seriously?" She said, looking up at him in disbelief.

He nodded, smiling brightly. "What can I say? Guess I'll have to try harder next time."

Her mouth twitched at the implication. "Guess so, sir."

#

His hands and lips had tingled for the rest of the day. When she'd grinned at him on her way home that evening, his traitorous tongue nearly asked if she could still feel his touch on her too.

It was probably for the best that he didn't.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Another two flashbacks for you fine people. Sorry this one took so long to get out, I was angsting over it for quite a while (thanks especially to Inu-midoriko for being a fantastic sounding board!)

(Also, please note the rating change!)

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><p><em>(Equivalent Year: 2146)<em>

Preparations for the arrival of the Sixth Pilgrimage meant it was several months before they were able to find enough time to meet together again – though Taylor had long since added Alicia to the security program which controlled access to the range, allowing her to visit on her own.

Not that she often did though – it wasn't the same without him.

Now they watched as the paper target travelled towards them, every metre of its approach making it clearer that he'd missed her target dot once again – a quarter inch out at most, but still not good enough. And considering where they were and how normal rules didn't strictly apply, she had no problem in telling him just that.

"No no no, you're never going to get it if you don't _listen_ to me. I know you hate following orders but I _trained_ for this, you didn't." She chastised as he sent the target back down the range angrily. "And, I might remind you, _that_ was **your** choice in the first place."

He huffed but nodded; barely a tip of his head, but a nod it was.

"Come on, on the floor, you had this place designed properly so let's use it properly."

Under the bench in each lane there was an open space for a shot to be made through, with a sandbag for additional weapon support. Taylor made sure the safety was on before placing the rifle on the floor and settling behind it. Wash lowered herself to join him, shoulder to shoulder.

"You've got it easy here, sir. No wind direction to consider, barely a fraction of the distances I covered. No distractions." He snorted at that and she allowed herself a moment of pleasure at the fact he apparently found her just as much a distraction as she did him. "Nothing to factor in except the size of the target. Use the ball of your finger." She reached out to adjust his hold on the trigger, ignoring the little spark she felt at the contact and writing it off as static build-up (what else?).

"Deep breath." She instructed, and he did so. "Now release it and when your lungs are empty, line up and take the shot."

He got it, finally. The flush of pride she felt at actually teaching the great Nathaniel Taylor something was almost dizzying, a fact not helped by the pleased grin he flashed her when noticing the cleanness of his shot. She rolled her eyes at him to hide her true reaction and thought over her next step. A memory of a particularly shitty sniping session came back to her and just like that, she had her plan.

She rose to her knees and lifted one to straddle his hips. She leant forward, placing her folded forearms along the width of his shoulder, before laying the majority of her weight on his back.

He stiffened, the muscles in his back tightening against her chest in what she would never admit was a completely delicious manner. "What the hell are you doing?"

"Half the time I did this it was last minute back-up and I had almost as much kit as my own body weight on my back. I still made every shot. Let's try you now."

"I can't help but think there are better ways to do this." He murmured, but his tone was light, amused. He tried to take a deep breath and Alicia felt herself lift into the air a little. Damn, it was like she barely a nuisance to him.

"Did your pack breathe down the back of your damn neck?" He asked, pressing his cheek against the stock of the gun.

"No sir. The heat and dirt took care of my discomfort, sir." She replied, hearing his exhaled amusement.

When he made the next shot, nearly perfect on the subsequent dot on the target, she tried a different approach. She pinched and prodded her fingers up his side mercilessly until his head popped up from the sight again.

"What now?"

"Bugs, sir. Can't forget the bugs. Do you know, I once had a snake crawl over my back while I was sniping?" She smiled to herself, swiping her fingertips slowly along the skin exposed where his t-shirt had ridden up. "Right about here."

"Is that so?" He asked, the slightest hint of a tremor in his voice.

She placed her palms flat on the floor beside his chest and leaned over him, watching his finger tighten on the trigger. Just before the rifle fired she threw caution to the wind and placed her mouth in the curve of his neck and sucked lightly, nibbling at the skin with her teeth. He lost his measured breathing completely and the shot was horrendous, not even making the paper as it flew straight into the back wall.

"I win." She crowed, climbing off of him and heading over to the weapons cabinet to select her own tool for the afternoon.

She heard him rise from the floor behind her, hesitating once he was upright. He then quickly crossed the room and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against him. She gasped at both the sudden movement and the feel of his length pressed against her.

"Don't start something you can't finish, lieutenant." He warned.

"No, sir." She said, turning in his arms to look up at him. "Wouldn't dream of it."

He growled and ducked his head to capture her lips, bruisingly hard. He nipped at her lower lip as his hands trailed down her back to hold her tighter to him.

She ran her hands up to rest on his shoulders, tipping her head to the side to accommodate his wish to deepen the kiss. He walked her backwards towards her empty bench and when the backs of her legs hit the wood she winced, harsh contact with a week-old bruise on her thigh enough to make her pull away with a hiss of pain.

Taylor moved his lips to her jaw, tracing a line up to her ear. "This is a bad idea." He muttered.

"The worst." She agreed, clutching at him in a manner that was far too submissive for her liking.

"We should stop." He continued, moving down to her neck.

"We should, sir."

He stilled, pulling back to observe her. "You mean that, don't you?"

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss him briefly. "Don't rush into a dangerous situation unplanned. You taught me that."

"Dangerous, eh?" He grinned.

"Could be, sir. Need to evaluate and build an appropriate strategy." She said, her businesslike tone entirely at odds with the way her hands were clutched around his biceps, her legs tangled with his.

"Sounds fun." He said, eyes sparkling.

She laughed. "You _would_ think so."

#

And then, naturally, everything went to hell.

#

_(Equivalent Year: 2146)_

"Wash, stand down." He shouted. She knew he was aware she could hear his words but she chose to ignore him, ejecting the empty clip and inserting a new one, before firing anew.

She ran out of ammo and walked to gather some more and he moved to stand in front of her station and block her return path.

"Excuse me sir." She said not looking at him.

"No. Stand down, lieutenant."

Her hands clasped behind her back as she fell into parade rest in front of him.

"I know you're angry, Wash. And do I ever understand how much this helps. But there's a limit."

"Yes sir." She said reluctantly.

"Come on. Change up to a rifle. I'll help you out."

She smiled now, letting him know how well she remembered what happened the last time he did that. "Okay, sir. No blindfold this time, sir?" She teased and he relaxed slightly when she walked over to store her pistol away for cleaning and gather a larger weapon – her being rattled always set him on edge too.

He tapped at a few of the buttons on the control panel and set the targets into a predetermined cycle of movement. Wash looked over at them curiously as she set up, turning an amused smile on him.

"We need to channel that anger into something productive. I don't imagine the Sixers are going to stand still and wait for you to shoot at them."

"I know how to shoot at live targets, sir."

"Humour me." Taylor said, walking behind her and grasping her hips. "Please?"

She cocked her head to one side, her mouth pulling up into a smirk. "Well, when you put it like that, sir."

At first she thought he was just toying with her – now that she wasn't blindfolded she didn't need his guidance to aim correctly. He simply stood, hands on her hips, watching as round after round found its way to the target. It was oddly relaxing, his presence behind her, but she didn't quite get _why_ he was doing it – she thought this was a game, he should be trying to distract her as she had him. Instead he was treating it more as a strange therapy session.

Concentrating on the target, painting each one with Mira's face, Wash found a happy place and stayed there.

Then his right hand moved forward until his fingers just slipped under her waistband. She tensed, then relaxed again, not letting her rhythm falter.

Game on.

He unbuttoned her pants with a flick of his wrist, but his hands didn't stray any lower. Puzzled as to his intention she continued until she was out of rounds, removing one magazine and inserting another. She placed the gun down carefully and tapped the interface to replace the paper target with one on a different motion cycle.

When she was settled back in and lining up her next shot his hand moved downward, pushing the zipper lower from the inside, the two halves of her fly parting in the wake of his hand.

He chuckled when she didn't react and her accuracy didn't diminish, despite the progress of his fingertips across her skin. But then he'd trained her well over the past year or so - it took a lot to distract her when she was out on duty anyway yet he'd upped her ability to concentrate tenfold with their little competitions.

It seemed to her that this session had become all about incentives. She made a particularly good shot, his hand slid lower. A miss and it retracted (though never far). It took four rounds hitting dead centre one after the other for his fingers to slip into her slick folds for the first time, the pad of his middle finger finding her bundle of nerves and stroking, just the once.

Her knees felt a little shaky but she was damned if she would give in; she'd been working hard on this and he wasn't about to undo it with his talented fingers.

He was amused by how long she held out, she could tell by the deep rumbling chuckles that radiated through her entire body as he moved ever closer to her. Her aim was reasonable even as his fingers delved further, requiring her to widen her stance. Considering she was starting to feel delightfully warm and slightly floaty she managed the reassignment of her weight without even breaking stride.

It became a battle of wills.

One of them would have to yield first and considering the last three of her rounds barely hit the target she figured it could only be her, in the end.

"Keep going." He warned when she fired her final round and pulled off her ear protectors.

"No." She responded, making the weapon safe and laying it down carefully. His hand started to retreat and she grabbed his wrist, forcing it back down. "_No._"

"Take the guns away and what are we doing?" He asked, warm skin pressed against her as he dropped his ear protectors next to hers.

"With or without guns, it doesn't matter." She said, threading her fingers through his and drawing their joined hands further into her underwear with a breath of excitement. "So long as we both want this."

She bucked her hips as fingers found her clit again (his, hers, it didn't matter) and he grunted against her ear at the press of her ass into him. "The rules..."

"Here was me thinking we were doing it this way to avoid worrying about your damn rules?"

She was right, they both knew it but neither had dared admit it to themselves before now. It'd been a very long time since they were coming to the range for practice, or stress relief. Somehow it had morphed into a way to circumvent all the trappings of their positions without giving up who they were, at the core.

As he brought her over the edge, Alicia wondered (in the one part of her mind that wasn't enjoying the sensation of her first non-solo orgasm in rather too long to consider) whether that had been his plan all along.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Another two flashbacks, and they finally get there. About time too.

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><p>A silent agreement had fallen between them after their last session in the range – they had to mix it up a bit. Competitions of accuracy alone were no longer possible as they had risen to practically the same level of ability. Taylor had therefore made the decision to suggest an addition – they would have to assemble each weapon from its constituent parts before hitting a predetermined sequence of points on the target. The first to complete the cycle would win.<p>

"Win what?"

He had grinned wickedly at her, seen her eyes flash with desire in response. "Whatever the loser is willing to do."

#

_(Equivalent Year: 2147)_

It was Wash's turn to choose the guns and Taylor arrived at the range up to find three different kinds of pistol laid out on each of their benches.

"Three shots to the head with the first, chest with the second and neck with the third." She said, hands in her pockets as she waited by her own station.

She chose the pistols because she worked best with them, knew them inside out, upside down, could take one apart, clean it and put it back together with her eyes closed – a fact he knew to be true due to a couple of the guys in the unit in Somalia getting her to do it on a regular basis as entertainment on long, boring evenings in camp.

He didn't speak, simply removed his jacket and stood at his station ready, waiting.

She gave the countdown and they began.

She got a head-start on him on the first pistol by a fraction of second but he soon made it up, and by the time they were assembling the third they were neck and neck. The final three rounds into their targets rang out in perfect unison.

They turned to each other with triumphant smiles, pulling off their ear protectors and advancing on the other slowly.

"What do you look so pleased about?" She asked with a curious tilt of her head.

"I won." He shrugged.

She laughed derisively at him. "You did **not**."

"Prove it." He baited.

She glared at him and stepped closer, her chest only a couple of inches from his own.

He'd seen her front up to many a fellow soldier in his time – as a plucky young recruit she rarely won but now she rarely lost, be it against a newbie with ideas above his station or a worn-down, strung-out vet who didn't take kindly to her correcting his sparring technique. Taylor was fairly certain he was the sole person in Terra Nova who she would still allow herself to feel intimidated by, her natural bravado not enough of a shield against his superior size and position.

He watched as she stared him down, wondering if she'd crack. Or when.

Eventually she dipped her head, just a little. Licked her lips. Lifted her hands to her ponytail and released it. Shook out her hair and smiled.

Dropped to her knees.

Well, that was new.

She reached out for his belt while his brain played catch-up, hands coming to rest over hers when he felt his zipper being lowered. "Wash..." He started, trailing off when he realised he didn't quite know what to say. He'd never asked for her to do this, much as he had wanted to. "You don't have to."

She licked her lips again as she looked up at him through her eyelashes, looking unfairly breathtaking. "I want to." She assured him.

She waited until he removed his hands to continue lowering the zipper, reaching her hand into the gap and grinning when she felt him already half hard. He cursed mentally – though he was generally always so in her presence, especially down in the range, it wasn't the best knowledge for her to have over him.

When her hand wrapped around his length, though, it was difficult to be particularly concerned. It also wasn't difficult to completely lose his misgivings and allow her to tease him to readiness.

She pushed the material of his pants out of the way with her free hand, not lowering them completely yet just enough to push his underwear down and expose him fully. She grinned up at him once more before leaning forward and engulfing the tip of him with her mouth.

He tried to be a gentleman about it (as far as that was possible) but as she started to lower her mouth onto him further his hand flew to her head instinctively, winding in her newly-released hair to hold her steady. She hummed delightedly around him and he groaned as he realised that had been her plan all along. She played him far too easily.

One hand came to the base of him to wrap around carefully as her other moved around to grip his ass, nails digging in hard. The hint of pain made him jerk, thrusting into the heat of her mouth involuntarily. She adjusted her hold to take the further intrusion, running her tongue along the full length of him as she withdrew slowly.

She blew a light blast of cold air across his wet tip, eyes crinkling as she chuckled at his pitiful moan. Her mouth was around him again in an instant, blending the moan into a groan of relief and arousal. She pumped her hand in counterpoint to the motion of her head, which he had managed to refrain from influencing so far.

He allowed his eyes to slip closed as she licked and sucked, creating the most sinful noises in the quiet, still air of the range. She was still humming in satisfaction as his hips started to rock, the vibrations doing ridiculously wonderful things to him. When she lightly added her teeth into the mix, just for a second, he grunted, both hands now fisting in her hair and slowly guiding her back and forth. She fought him when he tried to get her to move faster, digging her nails into his ass further as warning.

"Wash..." He groaned. "I can't... not much longer."

The sides of her mouth quirked at his attempt to warn her but she was not so easily deterred. If anything it made her redouble her efforts, employing every trick she knew to bring him closer to breaking point. He looked down to find her staring up at his face and the connection of brown eyes on blue was enough to send him over the edge, spilling into her mouth as she swallowed without comment.

He fell back against the bench, pants still half-hanging down, watching as she stood and wiped carefully at the corner of her mouth with her thumb, before inserting the digit into her mouth and sucking.

"Fine, you won." She said, returning to her bench.

Yes. Yes he did.

#

They usually waited until a few weeks after the arrival of a pilgrimage to indulge in their hobby – they needed the extra time to help everyone get settled in, but they also sorely needed a stress-relieving session once that miraculous event had finally occurred.

But this time it couldn't wait. He couldn't wait. Something he'd been waiting for had finally arrived with the Eighth Pilgrimage and showing Wash was top of his to-do list.

#

_(Equivalent Year: 2147)_

"You wanted to see me sir?" Wash asked, walking into the range and smiling curiously at him as he leaned against a large metal crate. "What's in the box?"

"It came through with the Eighth." He said.

"Okay..." She smiled properly at him now. "But what's _in_ it?"

"You remember Samuels?" He asked, crossing his arms (on purpose, her gaze redirected as usual and made him feel almost superhuman). "He mustered out a few weeks after you joined the unit."

She nodded. "I do, sir."

Of course she did, she had a mind like a steel trap. "He probably never got around to telling you but he had grand plans to open a war museum in what was left of Boston, fill it with historical weapons and costumes, like they had at the turn of the last century. He was a collector, had a load of fully-functional old pistols and rifles gathering dust at home that he wanted to find a use for."

"Did he manage it?" She asked, walking closer to sit on top of the crate next to where he stood.

Taylor nodded. "Quite a success too, until the domes started going up and his museum wasn't inside the boundary. People stopped wanting to come out to see it once they needed rebreathers, the building started to degrade as a result of the pollution and eventually he contacted me just before we shipped out to Terra Nova to tell me he was going to have to shut down."

Wash frowned. "What happened to all his things?"

"That's what I asked him, I sent a message through during the Fifth and we've been conversing since." He took a step back. "Stand up."

Her brow furrowed but she complied instantly, moving to stand beside him. He lifted the lid and her audible shock made him laugh.

In front of them, nestled within packing materials in carefully labelled boxes were a rich assortment of antique guns; pocket revolvers, flintlock pistols, even a musket buried deep within. Taylor knew there was sufficient ammunition and powder also hidden inside the crate, provided they only used the weapons infrequently.

He watched as she reached out and cautiously touched one of the pistols, before hefting it up into her grip and judging the weight. She aimed with it to test the sight and grinned, running her fingers over the embossed metal. "These are _beautiful_." She breathed, placing the pistol down reverentially and shutting the lid. "You got these for me?"

"For us." He corrected with a wink but her scowl was enough to make him backtrack. "Of course Wash. For you."

He recognised something different in the way she approached him after his correction. Amongst the pleasure and gratitude of his little surprise there was a naked adoration of him that soothed a deeply held anxiety he hadn't realised he still possessed.

The times before had been games. A bit of fun. Something light within their dark lives.

He suspected now that it was going to become even more.

She reached up for his head and tugged his lips to hers, hungrily showing him her gratitude. His arms came to rest on her lower back as he returned her kiss with enthusiasm. He started to back her up towards the nearest surface, the crate, but she switched their positions and instead guided him towards it until his knees hit resistance and buckled. He collapsed heavily onto the crate, the edge digging into his ass as she bent at the waist to keep their lips joined.

She spread her legs to straddle his lap and continued to work her lips over his as her hands ran down his torso to the hem of his shirt. She finally broke away in order to lift it up and off of his body, and he took the chance to do the same to her before she could regain too much control. He earned himself a scowl once again for that and she moved off him, depriving him of her warmth in the cool room.

She didn't move too far, instead leaning over to undo his belt and instruct him silently to lift his hips so she could tug his pants down roughly. In doing so he scooted further onto the crate, leaving his knees at the edge this time. There was still plenty of room behind and he leant back on his hands to watch as she grinned in satisfaction at the display of his arousal, pants hanging loose around his ankles.

She quickly removed her boots before she shucked off her own pants and underwear and slowly walked up to him, clearly enjoying the way his gaze roamed over her body.

She planted her hands firmly on his shoulders and moved first one, then the other knee to straddle his lap. Her extra height perfectly aligned the top of her chest with his mouth and he leant forward to nip and suck at her collarbone as she aligned her weight above him. She looked down at him with a raised eyebrow, a silent question of his readiness. He nodded once, kissing her sternum and she smiled, gripping his shoulders firmly as she started to lower her weight.

The feeling of her engulfing him was exquisite, so _tight, _a sensation he had gone far too long without experiencing. He wanted nothing more than to let his eyes drift closed and allow her to carry him away on a wave of pleasure but the desire to see her face as she reacted to him was impossible to ignore. He forced his eyes open as she lowered herself down and painted her face into his memory; the way her eyes fluttered closed at his first intrusion, how her mouth fell open when she felt him stretch her, her expression of awe at the feelings coursing through her body.

Her fingernails were digging into his shoulders as she seated herself completely in his lap but he embraced the pleasure-pain, bringing his hands to her hips as she stilled.

Her eyes opened slowly and she smiled at him, blissfully happy, as she wound her arms around his neck. He knew what he saw in her eyes was reflected in his own – contentedness.

_Home._

They stayed still and together for several moments, Wash dipping her head to capture his lips. Their tongues battled lazily, her hands combing through his hair as one of his came up to cup the back of her head and hold her close.

Eventually the desire to move became too great and she rose up slowly, gripping him with her muscles and drawing a long groan from his throat. She broke her hold on his lips to gasp as she lowered back down but he pulled her lips back to his as he settled his weight onto one hand. She ran a hand down to press against his chest as the other ran fingertips over the back of his neck.

The need to breath overrode her desire to keep their kiss going and she tugged his bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled back. He wouldn't let her go far, keeping their foreheads pressed together as he started to move back against her, lifting his hips on her down stroke to meet her. She caught his gaze with her deep brown eyes and he saw the humour there, sensed her next move coming as a result but still couldn't brace himself for the rotation she put in her thrust. He faintly heard her chuckle quietly as he grimaced and let out a quiet moan.

His hand left her hair (detangling his fingers was an adventure, he didn't know why she hadn't winced at his tight hold – though maybe she liked it, that was something to explore further) and trailed down her back to cup her ass and briefly squeeze. She groaned, clenching her inner muscles in response. He grinned, nipping at her lower lip until she growled in frustration and joined their lips once more.

Her movements grew more erratic as he continued to thrust up into her, so he drew his hand around to run light touches across her chest, teasing sensitive skin. He tweaked her nipples and swallowed her resulting gasp. He moved his lips along her jaw to her ear, taking the lobe between his teeth and nuzzling at her skin.

"Come for me Alicia." He whispered.

With two more thrusts she was there, throwing her head back with a shout as she ground down and pulsed around him. He followed quickly, raising his hips once more to get the friction necessary to push him over the edge with her.

He held them up with his supporting arm when she slumped against him, head tucked into the crook of his neck as her hot breath played over his heated skin. Once she had apparently regained the ability to think clearly she tipped her head to the side and placed a small kiss to the side of his throat.

"Thank you." She muttered.

He wasn't entirely sure what she was thanking him for, the gift or the sex or something else entirely so he just smiled, kissing her temple. "You're welcome."


End file.
